


The Illusion of Control

by eponymous_rose



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 18:40:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eponymous_rose/pseuds/eponymous_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A familiar face arrives aboard the UNSC prison ship Tartarus. It is, perhaps, important to have friends in high places. </p><p>(Spoilers for 13x01)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Illusion of Control

"Oh, hang on man, I totally meant to mention this earlier. One of the prisoners wants to see you."

Captain Santiago Mayers crosses his arms and leans back against his bridge console. Across from him, Stasney has made no effort to pull his attention away from the Grifball match on his monitor. In the six months they've worked together, Mayers has learned that there's no point in waiting him out to try and get a remotely respectful response. The guy's patently oblivious; Mayers once spent over an hour staring meaningfully at Stasney, waiting for a response to a question, while Stasney picked his nose and finished watching a documentary about space potatoes.

So now he only gives a cursory sigh before saying, "Really. I imagine a lot of them have a thing or two to say to me."

Stasney chuckles and reaches under his desk for the bag of cheese puffs he keeps stashed there. It's been four months since they could dock somewhere secure enough to allow them a proper resupply, and the guy somehow still manages to have chips everywhere. Mayers suspects he didn't actually pack any clothes for the voyage, just snack food. "Dude, I hear you. Some of these prisoners are just constantly, like, looking for any angle they can get. Must be the constant threat of being spaced, kinda gets on their nerves."

"Mm," says Mayers, watching in fascination as Stasney switches channels to some sort of livestreamed video game tournament and pulls down the front of his mask to chomp loudly on some cheese balls. Mayers smiles, fondly.

A lot becomes clear when you realize that Mayers has a son about Stasney's age. A lot becomes clearer when you realize he's also a little shit.

"Okay," says Mayers, "I'll bite. Why'd you mention it?"

"Mrph?" says Stasney, and swallows. "Dude, have you seen these video game guys? They're, like, getting paid for this!"

Across the room from him, Kilgore bangs his forehead once against his desk. Now, Kilgore is the sort of man who deals with minimal work responsibilities by creating his own busy-work. He's presently in the middle of analyzing the cost-benefit of color-coding the lights over the bathroom stalls down the hall to reflect the mood of the person occupying them. Vital stuff. Mayers makes a mental note to praise him on his diligence at some point to diffuse some of the tension brewing there. No use setting up a repeat of the Falafel Incident.

"The prisoner," says Mayers, gently pulling Stasney back on track. "You're right, they're always clamoring for my attention. Why'd you bother mentioning this one?"

Stasney shrugs. "Eh. Kinda creepy guy. These are high-security facilities, right? This dude just looks sort of bookish. Nerd type, y'know? Freaks me out."

"What exactly did he say?"

Stasney actually looks away from his monitor, frowning. "That's what I'm saying. He just, y'know, sort of said I should maybe come fetch you to talk to him. He was real calm about it, like he was making a suggestion. What the hell kind of prisoner makes a suggestion?"

Mayers scratches at the back of his head. It takes a hell of a lot to throw Stasney off. Well, unless it involves aliens. "Hm," he says. "Do you know when this prisoner joined our little group?"

"'Bout a week ago," Stasney says. "You remember, the military prison vessel came and dropped their guys off here? The ship that was needed elsewhere for—" He drops his voice, dramatically. "—mysterious reasons that are probably related to aliens."

"Oh, fuck off, Stasney," calls Kilgore. "They needed us to take on their prisoners because their ship was damaged while passing through an asteroid field. Stop looking for alien conspiracies."

"If I stop talking about it," Stasney says, primly, "they aliens will have already won."

"Oh my god—"

Mayers holds up his hands. "Okay, okay. Settle down. Stasney, you want to grab Blanton and bring this guy to see me?"

Kilgore cocks his head. "You're going to meet this guy?"

Mayers shrugs. "It's a quiet day. This prisoner sounds like an officer. Sometimes these higher-up types are willing to set things up to make their stay a little more comfortable."

"You gonna accept a bribe, sir?" Stasney says, with interest.

Mayers walks over and leans on Stasney's chair to tip it back. Even Stasney can't remain oblivious when faced with that; he stares up and blinks owlishly. "No," says Mayers, slowly and carefully. "I'm not. And I wouldn't say that again if I were a man who appreciated his cushy desk job and lack of sanitation duty. But I think it might be informative to see what this fellow thinks he has to bargain with."

"Oh," says Stasney. He looks more than a little disappointed. "Okay. I'll grab Blandon."

"His name is Blanton."

Stasney smirks. "No but have you met the guy? Bland as fuck. Ohhhhh, looks like we'll need a burn ward here after all."

Mayers rolls his eyes. "The prisoner," he says. "On your own time, Mr. Stasney."

Stasney slouches to his feet, snaps a sloppy salute. "Yessir," he says.

* * *

Aidan Price is older than he looks at first glance. He's got a baby-face, open and honest. He's soft-spoken to the point where it seems like an affectation, soothing and measured in his words and his responses.

He's also a convicted war criminal. The entirety of his personnel file is one big censor bar. When he stands across the bridge from Mayers, even in the ridiculous orange jumpsuit with his hands relaxed and empty at his sides, Mayers has the distinct impression that they're all in danger, that he's made a terrible mistake in giving this man a platform.

"Hello, sir," Price says. "I apologize for... distracting you from your duties."

"Stasney," says Mayers, "I've changed my mind. Lock this guy back up. Now."

Price doesn't so much as flinch, just sways slightly out of the way when Stasney makes a grab for him. "If I may, sir, I have information that you may find useful."

"What a surprise," Mayers says. "Stasney."

Stasney thumps a hand onto Price's shoulder, pulls his wrist back in a passable come-along hold. Price keeps his muscles loose, Mayers notices. Stasney's giving him a little more slack than he would otherwise. "I understand how this sounds," Price says. "By the way, I hear from the other prisoners that you're not a man who tolerates abuse."

Mayers blinks. Hates himself for saying, "What?"

"Of the prisoners. You run a clean ship. It's admirable." Price shifts, slightly, and Stasney relaxes his hold further, apparently without realizing it. "Do you know how the Purge works, Captain?"

Mayers rubs the back of his neck as though that'll be enough to ward off the incoming headache. But he's curious now, dammit, about where the hell this guy thinks he's meandering the conversation, destination-wise. And there's no reason not to take the opportunity to remind the guy of the potential consequences of his actions. "Yeah," he says. "Not much to know. We get enough trouble from you good folks, I hit a button, boom, prisoners go straight into space."

"As you say," says Price, "boom. Space. Now, I would like you to consider the fact that this ship has served several purposes over its long and storied lifetime. As a result, its electrical wiring is somewhat... archaic."

"What, were you an electrician in a past life, Mr. Price?" Mayers says, then winces; that 'Mr.' was a slip-up.

"Perhaps," says Price. "What I am saying, sir, is that certain elements of the Purge's essential architecture are housed in wiring that passes directly through the cells. And certain, shall we say, criminal elements housed therein have discovered this fact and taken steps to ensure that the Purge will not function properly."

Mayers freezes, glances back to meet Stasney's terrified gaze. "You're kidding," he says.

Price winces as, a shade belatedly, Stasney tightens his grip on his wrist and shoulder. "No, sir," he says. "My cellmate prised the floorboards up this morning, in fact. The security footage has been looped by a small device he carries about his person. It should likely be confiscated."

"Blanton," says Mayers, tightly, and the man salutes and dashes into the corridor.

It's silent on the bridge for a long moment. Price stands perfectly still, although he must be uncomfortable, judging by the way Stasney is nervously wringing his wrist. Mayers says, "Maybe you're not as smart as you think."

"Perhaps not," says Price, mildly.

"What I mean is, they're going to know you helped me out, here." Mayers crosses his arms and grins. "Not exactly your best way to make friends, Price."

"Yes," Price says. "Things could become rather unpleasant for me."

"Sir," says Blanton, over the comm, "he's right. Security footage has been looped. We'll need to bring all hands in to do a sweep of the cells and repair the damage. Maybe upgrade to a wireless system to avoid future tampering."

"A new project for Kilgore," Mayers says. "He'll be thrilled." He crosses his arms, scratches at his five o'clock shadow, then says, again, "They'll all know you helped us."

"As you say," Price says.

"They're not going to take kindly to you as a snitch."

"I imagine not," Price says. He smiles, faintly, and Mayers feels like the room's temperature drops several degrees. "Oh. If I may, sir. I'd like to congratulate you again on your ability to maintain this prison without resorting to any abuse of prisoners. Zero injuries in the cells, despite the overcrowding problem. It can only be the result of careful... manipulation, on your part."

Mayers stares at him. Price stares back.

Mayers says, stiffly, each word sour in his mouth, "Stasney, please make sure that Price here is put in his own cell, for his safety. Triple-up the others if you have to. And Blanton, don't take any action on those upgrades for another twenty-four hours, to diminish suspicion. We don't need a prison assassination on our hands."

"Understood," says Blanton.

Stasney snickers and elbows Price. "Not so fuckin' smart now, are ya? Seeing as how we just had to save your ass."

Price smiles. "As you say. Thank you for your consideration, captain. I appreciate your offer of protection in return for my information. I trust this will continue to be a... mutually beneficial arrangement."

The headache is already throbbing in Mayers' temples. "Get him the hell out of my sight," he says, sharply, and turns back to the bridge console, clenching and unclenching his hands. He hears the door open and close behind him.

His gut's got a free-falling feeling, like he just tried to turn over a rock and found whatever lurked beneath already in the process of turning  _him_  over.

Stasney sidles back in a few minutes later and goes straight for his monitor, oblivious as ever. Without turning, Mayers says, "Stasney. You're not to speak to that prisoner again."

Stasney chomps on a cheeseball, then says, "Got it, sir."

"I mean it. You stay the hell away from him. All of you. If he tries to speak to you, you come straight to me."

"Aight," says Stasney.

Mayers rubs his forehead. He feels shaky. He needs... well, he needs a lot of things that he banned from this ship for very good reasons. "Stasney," he says, turning, "you got a second bag of those cheese puff things?"

Stasney grins, reaches under his desk and tosses a bag at Mayers, who catches it out of midair. "C'mon," he says. "Grifball game's into its second half. Totally gonna get a comeback going."

Price is behind a cell door. Any power he holds is an illusion.

Mayers stands over Stasney's shoulder, chomping heavily processed cheese, and for once in his life he takes the time to really appreciate obliviousness.


End file.
